Page:The-forlorn-hope-hall.djvu/50

Rh When forth from out the blue and boundless sea, That long had circled and imprisoned me, I saw a fair and fruitful land arise, And knew, at once, my native shore and skies.

Quicker than thought I passed, and stood before The well-known dwelling of my child and wife, Yet could not pass the threshold of the door That kept me forth from all I loved of life; My heart was chill'd—though from within there came A voice that seem'd to murmur my own name— While tongue, nor hand, nor foot, obeyed my will, But powerless, motionless, I stood there still.

A mist was o'er my eyes—yet I could see, Through the closed lattice, the dim forms of two Whose hearts were mine—none other could they be! They were not strangers, that full well I knew: But dark and dull as was the outward gloom It was less deep than that within the room, And vainly were mine eyeballs strain'd to trace More than the outline of a form and face.

How death-like all that was within I deemed, All save the music of a human voice; But that so faint and so unearthly seem'd, It chilled the hope that would have said "Rejoice!" Was it the breathing of my wife or boy? Was it a tone of sadness or of joy, That, like a fearful though a welcome spell On the one sense that owned me master, fell?

The mist was slowly passing from my sight— Its darkness every moment grew less deep— Till I beheld my wife; all draped in white She lay upon a couch in gentle sleep: And our boy watched, and sigh'd to hear her sigh, To mark how pale her cheek, how sunk her eye! Sorrow that fair form must have sadly bowed— Oh, God of judgment! she was in her shroud!

At once my tongue was loosed, my limbs were free, I burst the casement, and I madly spoke, And my boy started, wildly looked on me And shriek'd so fearfully, that I awoke— To hear the ocean's never varied sound And the wild sea-mew, wheeling round and round— Where hope, the sunlight of the soul, ne'er beams— A broken-hearted exile, even in dreams!



, when a young bachelor woos a young maid Who's eager to go and yet willing to stay, She sighs, and she blushes, and looks half afraid, Yet loses no word that her lover can say; What is it she hears but the blarney? The blarney, the blarney, Oh, a perilous thing is the blarney!

To all he has told us she gives no reply; Or murmurs and whispers so gentle and low; And though he has asked her, when nobody's by, She dare not say "Yes," and she cannot say "No." She knows what she hears is the blarney, The blarney, the blarney, Oh! a perilous thing is the blarney!

But people get used to a perilous thing, And fancy the sweet words of lovers are true; So, let all their blarney be pass'd through a ring; The charm will prevent all the ill it can do; And maids have no fear of the blarney, The blarney, the blarney, Or the peril that lies in the blarney!

was a very old man, and had seen His children's children flourish as they grew; Yet strong in mind as he had ever been— Unworn by fourscore summers—still he drew The eyes of all men on him; for his fame Had gone forth to the nations; and his name Was, like himself, time-honour'd—and his look Was as the index to some well-penn'd book.

It was his age's winter; yet he bore His years with dignity, for, in his spring, His wild shoots were well pruned—so that he wore His summer garment bravely; age might bring His full boughs nearer earth, but could not kill The root that sent forth fruit and blossoms still; The tempest o'er it many a time had pass'd, Yet left it firm and noble to the last.